


Back Again

by spycaptain



Category: Naruto
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Or lovers to something more?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 14:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11602497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spycaptain/pseuds/spycaptain
Summary: She enters her apartment, and of course he’s there: Tenzo, lying on her couch, eyes closed and relaxed. There’s a warm, spicy smell wafting in from her kitchen, because apparently the words ‘I need space’ and ‘This is a bad idea’ translate to ‘Please make dinner’ when heard by men like him.





	Back Again

**Author's Note:**

> A small fic I wrote well over two years ago for my main Naruto pairing. One which is severely under represented in fanworks. Enjoy! :)

_ So I walk through the streets I love, _

_ And I'm led to the house I built, _

_ And I walk through the streets I love, _

_ And I lay in your bed again. _

_ \- Wake Up Your Saints by The National.  _

 

Anko returns home exhausted and weary, and it’s a day just like any other in Konoha. She drops her mission report off at the desk and begins her walk home, her hands shoved in her pockets, a scowl on her lips.

Home. Food. Sleep. Then maybe fix the mess you made - but before that, the basics.

She enters her apartment, and of course he’s there: Tenzo, lying on her couch, eyes closed and relaxed. There’s a warm, spicy smell wafting in from her kitchen, because apparently the words ‘I need space’ and ‘This is a bad idea’ translate to ‘Please make dinner’ when heard by men like him.

“I know you’re not asleep,” Anko says as she slides her jacket off, tossing the dirty fabric to the floor (she’ll clean it later; now it’s one mess at a time.) She begins to unwind the wrappings on her hands, and then there is the the quiet, practiced sound of leather untying as she removes her weapons holster.

Tenzo shrugs, and doesn’t move from his spot on her couch. She can only assume he’s content existing in a space where he is unwanted.

Anko tosses her sock at him and goes to the kitchen. On the counter innocently sits a single meal of vegetables, with all the spices she likes. No sweets, because she hates sweets after missions like these. The meal is spicy, it will burn her tongue and make her ears itch, but it’s light, just like she wants.

“Tenzo,” she sighs. 

She hears him move from the couch, the loud crack of his back as he stretches, and waits for him to join her in the kitchen. And of course he does, Tenzo steps beside her, his shoulder lightly pressed against hers, and his fingers held against her own, as they lean against the kitchen counter.

Space, Anko thinks. You wanted space and he gives you this. 

He gives her space in everything she needs, except  _ this _ . 

“Why are you here?” She asks, staring at the broccoli and the carrots. 

Tenzo doesn’t sigh, but she feels him breath in like he is about to, and when she looks up at him his eyes are closed. His expression is frustrated.

“Why are you so dramatic?” He asks, but he’s laughing, and his question hangs in the air between them; his five spoken words the catalyst for a thousand others in her head.

Anko looks to the kitchen table, clean and empty and boring, and remembers two weeks prior when Tenzo fucked her on it, bent her over it, his fingers in her mouth as she moved her hips with his, fast and hard and ---

Why is she so dramatic?

She’s never done that before, not the way she did with him. She hasn’t been exposed and desperate and begging, not for  _ anyone _ .

Anko operates in extremes, because in extremes she can get answers. She's not scared, she's terrified. She's not happy, she's euphoric. To find a place where all exist in muted stasis, and to be _ satisfied _ and sated, that is to be without answers. Without answers she is vulnerable, and to be vulnerable is to be hurt. 

(Because who hasn't hurt her when she's been vulnerable? Tenzo is just the proprietor of new forms of vulnerability, and new forms of pain mixed with new forms of pleasure.) 

When she kissed him, wine-drunk and warm, she hadn’t expected it to end the way it did. She hadn’t expected the desperate, fluttering feeling in her chest, or the weakness in her bones that followed it.

Anko leans against Tenzo, the weight of her body limp against his frame. Before she can open her mouth to pout or whine or make excuses, he has his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.

“I’m here because I want to be,” Tenzo whispers, resting his chin on her head, not bothering to hide his exasperation. “Even when you’re being dramatic.”


End file.
